The Purple Notebook
by Madhuri
Summary: The summer after GoF, we find Ginny about to spend a couple of extremely boring months stuck in the Burrow with her annoying older brothers. That boredom is somewhat alleviated when Hermione sends her a belated birthday present.


A/N: Just in case it doesn't come off clearly, this fic starts at the beginning of the summer after GoF, in the Burrow. All standard disclaimers apply. 

**The Purple Notebook.**

Ginny sat hunched up on her bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. It was almost midnight, the last time she'd checked, but she didn't really feel like going to sleep. Not just yet. Not until she figured out what Hermione meant by her cryptic birthday present. 

Ginny had been a little hurt when Hermione had completely forgotten about her birthday over a week ago, but she did manage to understand. Hermione had been throwing herself fully into efforts to try and make sure Harry survived the Third Task. It made sense that she'd forget her birthday. But Hermione's birthday present didn't make any sense at all. 

It was a notebook. A small, purple, bound notebook. Ginny picked it up and examined it curiously. It was unruled, with light cream coloured pages, and didn't seem to be in any way enchanted or even magical. It was just a plain, Muggle notebook. So why was it making her so nervous? 

Maybe it was because Ginny had a suspicion that it was meant to be a diary. Hermione hadn't said that, however. In a postscript in her latest letter (which appeared to be hastily scribbled) Hermione mentioned that she was sending along a belated present for Ginny, and that she hoped she'd find it useful. Ginny had of course thought while unwrapping the gift that it was yet another one of those textbook-ish tomes Hermione was so passionate about, but it turned out to just be a notebook. And it was blank. What was she supposed to do with it? 

Ginny sighed and set the book back down on her bedspread. The dim light of her candle caused the shadows around her to flicker and refocus, making the notebook seem a lot less innocent. Ginny just didn't know if she was ready to be writing in a diary again, conveying her innermost thoughts and feelings to an invisible friend, her closest confidante. And even if this notebook wasn't enchanted in any way, she still couldn't take the risk of writing in it. What if somebody read it? What if somebody used it to blackmail her? What if... 

But as much as Ginny hated to admit it, the idea of writing again didn't sound so bad. The long summer stretched ahead and she'd most likely be wandering around the house stiff bored, might as well write down how bored she was feeling. And it didn't need to be a _diary_. It could also be a journal, or a planner, or a doodling pad for drawing up study schedules and taking down History of Magic notes. And since it was completely blank, maybe she'd try her hand at drawing too. 

Feeling slightly better, Ginny got up from her bed and rummaged in her drawer, trying to find a quill and an inkpot. It was very late, but it was the second official summer night and she had nothing to do and no reason to get up early the next day. Grabbing a new quill and a half-empty inkpot, Ginny sat back down on the bed and settled down with the notebook in her lap. She loaded her quill, turned to the first page, and hesitated. The blankness of the page was almost intimidating. But she took a deep breath and plunged ahead, writing the exact same words she had written in another notebook three years ago. 

_Name: Ginny Weasley_

Ginny paused breathlessly, but nothing seemed to happen, and she relaxed a little. She could trust Hermione. She'd never give her something that might harm her in any way. 

_Floo Stop: The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole/ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

Birthday: 22nd May 1981 

Wow, I sure am an interesting person. I can't think of anything else to write about myself. Hobbies... well, I adore flying, although I find Quidditch boring. Except when I'm playing it of course, or watching it, or reading about it, or listening to the commentary on the WWN. The only sort of dream I have right now is getting myself a decent broomstick, something that's actually capable of hovering more than 2 feet about the ground. I'm the youngest girl, well, the youngest whatever, in the biggest family I know. 6 brothers. Oh yeah, and a couple of parents as well. People sometimes say to me that I'm lucky I belong to such a large family, but they don't have to deal with living in a room the size of my closet in Hogwarts, or living with so many siblings their parents sometimes lose count and forget they exist, or having to share everything **all the time-**

Ginny stopped, feeling actuely uncomfortable. What she was writing seemed disturbingly similar to what she'd confessed to Tom so many times. Her face crunched up. __

It's been three years since I've written anything vaguely resembling what I feel, anywhere. And I start again... and it seems like I haven't changed at all. Like I haven't grown up. I worry about that sometimes, not growing up. Not being allowed to. Always being the baby of the family. The summer after my first year, my parents were so terrified of what happened to me that I wasn't left out of their sight. And for once I'm not exaggerating. It was **tiresome**, that summer. Just like the school year. Except the school year was more of a twisted-psychopath-posses-my-body-and-almost-leaves-me-responsible-for-horrible-deaths-of-innocent-students-two-of-whom-I-consider-my-friends-and-one-who-was-dating-my-brother situation rather than a tiresome one. 

Bitter, aren't I. Sometimes I still can't believe how stupid I was. I was so stupid, I couldn't even believe that 'bad people' existed. I thought that You-Know-Who was a very entertaining villain for a bedtime story... I had no idea that he was real. That real evil existed. I couldn't comprehend. And that I'd have to redefine my very concept of a villain. Tom Riddle makes Mum's version of You-Know-Who look like Father Christmas. But Tom became You-Know, I mean he **is**, or was... 

This is too confusing. It's late at night, and I've had a very busy day of doing nothing, and everyone's lousy mood has rubbed off on me. Definitely not the ideal time to dredge up memories of Tom. 

I can't believe I'm still calling him Tom, not 'miserable pathetic bastard' or some other fitting name. I just- 

I don't know. But this academic planner is becoming far too much of a you-know-what for my taste, and I need to go to sleep. 

Ginny stuck the quill and the inkpot back in her drawer, and stared at the notebook. For some reason she felt like making sure that her notebook, and her feelings, were kept as far away from her as possible. The open window looked very inviting. Ginny shook her head at this ludicrous thought and shoved the notebook under a pile of old parchments and textbooks on her desk. She blew the candle out and climbed into her bed, trying to get to sleep. __

To Be Continued... 

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A/N: Promising? Pathetic? :) Whatever you think, please drop me a review and let me know. 


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